


two kids, no consequences

by MinkaMouse



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Again, F/M, Fluff, He cant help but stare at you, Neighbor au, Neighbors, Peter doesn't have a backpack, can you blame him?, he's got a crush, it was stolen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:15:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27641252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinkaMouse/pseuds/MinkaMouse
Summary: Peter’s running late for school but then so are you and suddenly time doesn’t seem to matter anymore
Relationships: Peter Parker/Reader, Peter Parker/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 68





	two kids, no consequences

**Author's Note:**

> After I finished this fic, I was struggling with a title and then I remembered Time-Bomb by All Time Low and boom. hahaha
> 
> Also. Not beta-ed...so...sorry for any typos and grammar errors huhu

Peter’s late.

He forgot to set his alarm when he came home from patrol last night (to be fair, he was more focused on his bruised rib and a black eye) and now, he’s rushing to get all his books and notes in order so that he can catch the bus before it leaves. May’s already gone—there’s a note on his packed lunch wishing him good luck like she _knows_ he’s going to need it—and Peter manages to balance all his things in his left arm (he _really_ needs to get a new backpack) as he reaches back to close and lock the front door with his right.

He doesn’t think he would have been able to manage that if it weren’t for his powers.

After he twists the doorknob to make sure that it’s indeed locked (he’s never making _that_ mistake again. May was so disappointed when her ugly lamp went missing… along with his laptop. _Anyway)_ , Peter is just about ready to bolt down the staircase when he runs into his neighbor.

You’re out of your front door with the same rushed energy Peter’s sure he had just seconds ago.

In his previous life, _pre radioactive spider bite,_ Peter’s sure the impact of your collision would have sent him to the ground, books and papers and lunch in the air, but he’s different now.

Sturdier. Better balance.

He can’t say the same for his things but, luckily, you hold out your hands just in time to keep them from toppling over like Jenga blocks. When nothing falls over, you give him a grin that just about stops time (he prays that it _can_ stop time because he’s, again, _late_ but you’re here and, well, priorities) and Peter hopes that the smile he gives you in return isn’t dopey.

Or only just a fraction of dopey. He’s feeling really soft and mushy inside. It’s hard to contain.

Your hair is pulled away from you’re freshly washed face and you’re wearing your school’s hoodie with pair of comfortable sweatpants and sneakers. Peter knows he shouldn’t make assumptions but he’s pretty sure that, like him, you’d just rolled out of bed.

At least you had time freshen up just a bit.

“Everything alright, Pete?” You ask, slightly winded, and he turns red because he’s staring.

“Oh. Y’know. The usual.” Peter says with a shrug. He’s the picture of nonchalance despite how fast his heart is hammering against his chest. Is it because of adrenaline? Panic? You? He’ll never know. “Didn’t wake up in time. Have a quiz first period I _definitely_ didn’t study for.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine.” You say because it’s Peter. He always manages to pass his tests regardless of how little he’s prepared for them. It’s kind of infuriating, really. 

Peter shrugs again and you see that he’s tapping his foot in a way that suggests that there’s energy that he needs to expel, he’s _flustered,_ rather than a show of impatience.

“Wait here.”

Peter’s eyes widen. “Uh. I’m sorry but I’m already _really—”_

“Two seconds!” You yell. You’re already back in your apartment.

Peter doesn’t even think he has two _milliseconds_ to spare but he’s slowly starting to realize that nothing he does now is going to get him to school on time and he’s starting to calm down at his inevitable tardy slip.

Just a bit.

Not really.

He really does have a quiz first period and his teacher isn’t too happy with his _inconspicuous_ entrances after the bell.

But he’s always been good at pretending.

You run out the door after five seconds and you hold out a black backpack with this excited look on your face like you just found treasure. There’s a skull plastered on its front, the white paint chipping from age, and spikes along the straps.

Peter knows he’s staring again.

Your cheeks color and the smile on your face falls a bit (Peter feels guilty about that. He wants to apologize but… the skull. It’s looking into his soul) but you aren’t deterred.

“It was a _phase_ , okay?” You say, reaching up to take a couple of books off of his stack and push them into the bag. Peter thinks he remembers what you’re talking about. There’s a memory of dyed hair, combat boots, and dark make up. “Well. _Hmm._ I still have my moments. Skulls are _awesome_ but I try not to be so loud about it anymore.”

(Peter definitely knows you own a skull and crossbones necklace but he’s not going to say anything.)

The weight, though not really heavy to begin with, lightens and Peter snaps out of his trance.

“I-I can’t take this—”

It’s yours. It’s _way_ too badass for a someone like him. It’s yours. He’s _so_ going to lose it (get it stolen) in _at least_ two days. It’s _yours._

“ _Please._ You’re going to get into an accident going to school like that. Besides, I’m not using it anyway.”

You shake the backpack a few times so that all his books would settle and zip it close with a flourish. Peter lets the bag pull him down when you drop it into his hands without warning and you let out a laugh at what he’s sure is his face. For somewhat of a genius, he’s having trouble taking this all in.

When he straightens, swinging the backpack over his shoulder, he thinks that “thank you” isn’t enough to express whatever it is he’s feeling in his chest right now. He’s grateful for the backpack but there’s so much more that he wants to say, to acknowledge because it’s not just the backpack.

The other day, you had come over with a tray of cupcakes you baked “just because” _—just because_ cupcakes don’t typically look like Ewoks but he isn’t really an expert of the cupcake giving laws _—_ and helped him and Ned with another Lego build. There are also the late-night chats outside your neighboring windows when Peter can’t sleep, recommending music that you think he would enjoy as well as unknowingly gushing over Spider-Man. (Peter is _so_ going to hold your crush over your head if he ever gets the chance to.) You bond with May when she’s out getting the mail, suggesting easy to follow recipes that _sometimes_ come out alright when she tries them out, and watch the movies Peter isn’t really a fan of with her.

(If he has to watch _When Harry Met Sally_ one more time…)

(Who is he kidding? He’s joined you two on the sofa once or twice with the excuse of taking a break from homework)

You’re a breath of fresh air. Your smile always putting Peter in the best mood, urging him to do his best to make you laugh because watching your nose scrunch up and eyes crinkle is probably the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen—the most _calming._

And he’s swung through New York, high up above the buildings, just when the sky begins to pink, the thrum of the city almost like white noise.

There’s just something about you that’s _easy,_ that numbs his senses to the point that he can feel that it’s okay to relax, that the world isn’t going to implode if he spent a few seconds in the company of a pretty girl.

“Wha—Honey? _Peter?_ What are you two still doing here?”

Of course time waits for no one, the world continues to turn, despite Peter’s wishes. He sees your eyes widen with surprise, your shoulders hitching up, and he turns his attention to your front door to see your mother standing there, just as surprised. She’s dressed in a suit, her bag hung on the crook of her arm, keys in her hand

“Hi, Mom,” you say at the same time Peter greets her. The woman gives a smile though she doesn’t seem that happy.

“ _Hi.”_ Your mom says. “Don’t you two have school today?”

“Huh? Yeah. Of course.” You pout—Peter definitely should not be staring especially with you mom standing _right there—_ and look at your wrist watch while your mom walks around you to head down the stairs. You curse colorfully.

“First bell rang already?” Peter asks.

“Yup.”

“I missed my quiz?”

“Oh. Most _definitely.”_

Peter tilts his head back and lets out a groan. He’s _so_ going to pay for that later. May is going to _kill_ him and hide his super suit.

“Yeah. That sounds about right,” you say, laughter in your voice. Peter looks down to see you grinning and, all of a sudden, the situation doesn’t seem that bad anymore. “What’s _one_ late?”

Peter doesn’t have the heart to tell that this isn’t his first time. “Right.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You up for breakfast?”

Your nose is scrunching up and Peter doesn’t even bother to conceal his dopey smile.

“I think I have some time.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is a one-shot but im open for a part two haha let me know if that's something you'd want to see ☺


End file.
